


Shut Up & Don't Stop Talking

by firefliesinlove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Panic Attack, Silence, Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefliesinlove/pseuds/firefliesinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek tells Stiles to shut up and so he does. Derek misses his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Up & Don't Stop Talking

Stiles and Derek are sitting on a black leather sofa in Derek’s new loft. He seems really excited. Overly so. Stiles, an open bag of potato chips in one hand and a can of Coke in the other, is bouncing on the edge of the seat and almost visibly bursting with energy.

 

Stiles has been visiting him often since the start of the summer holidays. As it turns out the friends he surrounded himself with all but disappeared. Stiles doesn’t talk much about why he’s suddenly detached from his circle of friends. Though he sometimes seems to have nowhere else to go, no one else to talk to and Derek understands that loneliness. And so when there’s a familiar rhythmical knock at his door, Derek lets him in. No questions asked. He figures he’s invaded the teen’s bedroom enough times in the past without permission. Stiles has earned the right to be in his personal space, too.

 

The pair spend their time doing a variety of things. Stiles manages to convince Derek to buy a PlayStation and an Xbox and teaches him to play some of the most ridiculous games he thinks must exist. They watch movies on Stiles’s laptop. Sometimes they talk and sometimes just sit in silence: Stiles researching something on his laptop and Derek practicing his meditation.

 

Derek tells himself that he tolerates Stiles’s presence in his loft. At times he finds that the boy, no, young adult, frustrates him to no end. Other times he’s a comfort, even if Derek won’t openly admit it. Stiles is familiar and he’s an extension of the pack. Unofficially. Nobody has actually told him the words “you’re pack”. Derek suspects that Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Jackson already understand his place in their group. Scott keeps his distance but has confronted Derek once or twice about the smell encompassing Stiles almost like a protective blanket. His scent; the invisible mark of the Alpha.

 

The truth of the matter is that Stiles has grown on Derek and he feels the need to be involved in his life, even in the smallest of ways.

 

Today Derek has a headache. He’s perplexed that it’s lasted for six hours but not too worried. This whole week has been stressful on him in every possible way. It was bound to catch up with him eventually. Every sound is magnified and sends spikes of pain through his skull. He keeps his movement to a minimum as that seems to aggravate it further. But Stiles doesn’t stop moving. He doesn’t stop talking or making sounds, either.

 

He’s going on about this charity event. Apparently a few of the higher profile families in Beacon Hills have decided to put on a fair to raise money for the hospital as there had been an increase in patients in the last few years and no increase in the funds available.

 

“I’m so totally stoked for this. Like, you have no idea, Derek!” Stiles stuffs a few chips into his mouth but this doesn’t stop him from continuing. He’s a master at speaking while he eats. “It’s like… I’ve been waiting for this moment for my entire life. Well, maybe not. But, you know, pretty damn close. This is the best thing. Ever! I don’t care if I get sick or I’m bleeding out of all of my holes. I’m going to be there to witness this. I- I don’t know if I can wait until this Friday.” Stiles stops only to swallow the food and take a sip of his drink.

 

“Stiles.” Derek’s nostrils flare as his anger rises. Each word is like a dagger being plunged into his head. Only these wounds aren’t regenerating.

 

“I still just can’t even believe this is real. I’m going to throw so many pies into Jackson’s face it’ll look like someone came all over his-”

 

“ _Stiles_.” Derek’s eyes are closed now and he’s covering his eyes with his right hand.

 

“-Face. I’ll take so many pictures. And you know… He’s not the only one that’s been forced to take part in the pie toss. There will be _so_ many pictures. I may need to borrow an extra SD card from someone. I know mine will be-”

 

“Shut up.” Derek’s hand slides down his face and he opens his eyes. He may or may not be glaring at Stiles. He doesn’t know what his face is doing anymore. It’s mostly numb from the pain.

  
“What?” Stiles stops moving. He’s holding a chip close to his open mouth. He just stares like he’s never heard the words before. He almost looks hurt.

  
“Stiles, will you just shut the fuck up?” _‘I have a headache’_ , he thinks he says but he doesn’t.

 

“I don’t… Did I do something wrong?” Stiles carefully puts the chips and drink down on the coffee table. “I’m not sure what…?”

  
“ _Shut your god damn face and get the fuck out_.” Derek can’t control the words anymore. He blames the pain and his inability to get rid of it. He’s sure Stiles will understand.

 

A slew of emotions pass over Stiles’s face before he gets up, grabs his backpack and walks over to the door to put on his shoes. Derek can smell the sadness and confusion surrounding him and he starts to regret his poor choice of words: his uncontrollable word vomit that he’s trying to blame on having Stiles around so often. Still, he can _feel_ the emotional pain radiating off of him.

 

“Stiles.”

 

Stiles turns to look at Derek and all he can see now is anger.

 

“I know the way out.” He snaps and before Derek can react he’s alone in his loft. The scent of Stiles fades considerably. No more sounds to hurt him and yet the pain in his head worsens. He curses, loudly, and punches a hole in the nearest wall for reasons he doesn’t fully understand.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles walks faster than normal on his way home. He has a headache and he’s pissed off. When he finally calms down enough to focus on his surroundings he realizes he’s taken more than a few wrong turns and has ended up in a part of town he’s not too familiar with. He’s tired and thirsty and full to the brim with emotions. When he spots a wooden ‘Ye Olde Pub’ sign and the word “OPEN” lit up in the window, he figures ‘ _Why the hell not?_ ’

 

He pushes open a heavy wooden door and his nose is immediately assaulted with smoke, alcohol and body odour. He wrinkles his nose in disgust but goes inside. The bar itself looks old but taken care of. The place is decorated in green, gold metal and dark maple wood. A pool table is in the far corner, surrounded by people. There are booths and tables but Stiles heads straight for the bar. He pulls out a stool, sits down with some effort and leans on the counter.

 

“You got any I.D., kid?” A middle-aged balding man with a gruff voice walks over to him from behind the counter.

 

Stiles nods, pulls his license out of his pocket and hands it to the bartender who eyes him suspiciously for a few seconds before returning the tiny plastic card. Stiles pockets it.

 

“What’ll it be?”

 

Stiles bites his bottom lip and cocks his head to the side, eyeing the liquors on the back wall with uncertainty. He’s not one to just walk into a bar and drink. The last time he touched any alcohol was the time he and Scott spent drinking in the woods.

 

Seemingly in no mood for his indecisiveness, the bartender speaks. “You look like you need a no nonsense drink. How about a whiskey on the rocks?”

 

Stiles nods and watches the man expertly put together his simple drink. What did he look like to this man? With all of the emotions he was feeling and the sweat drenching his shirt he probably looked a wreck. Maybe smelled like one, too.

 

A glass is slammed down in front of him and Stiles reaches into his backpack for his wallet.

 

“You can pay now or open a tab.” The bartender is wiping down the counter with a yellowed rag. “Did you come here for just one drink?”

 

Stiles doesn’t say anything but puts away his wallet. The bartender glances in his direction and nods before he’s gone to another customer at the other end of the bar.

 

Stiles cups a hand around the glass of whiskey and stares at it, wondering why he’s suddenly at a loss for words. It’s not as though nobody else has told him to stop talking before. This time felt different. With Derek he’s been himself for the last month. But tonight everything changed. What did he do? One minute they were fine and the next - was Derek just done with him? Stiles swirls the glass before he downs its contents and flags down the bartender for another.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek is on the phone with Scott before he knows it. Stiles must have his turned off because after ten or fifteen attempts he wasn’t able to get through. “Well if you hear from him. Let me know.”

 

There’s a muffled, confused reply and he ends the call.

 

He calls the others. Lydia, Allison, Erica, Boyd and Isaac. He doesn’t think to call Jackson.

 

Derek’s headache hasn’t gotten any better but he’s too concentrated on Stiles to care. He doesn’t know why there’s a tightness in his chest when he thinks back to the look on his face before he turned to leave. He knows one thing for sure. He never wants to see that again.

 

Derek grabs his leather jacket and heads out of the loft, easily tuned into the scent he knows all too well. Once outside he makes his way towards his jet black Camaro.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

By his tenth drink the bartender’s curiosity has been peaked and the man keeps eyeing him. He hasn’t spoken a word since he left Derek’s loft. There are so many things that he wants to say but this bartender isn’t the person he wants to confide in or to yell at. Maybe, just maybe, if he has a few more he’ll say something. His emotions are running a little high and just this once he’s trying very hard to control himself. Control the hammering of his heart, the stinging in his eyes and the urge to scream.

 

Stiles has been sharing these moments with Derek all summer long. He thinks, at the very least, that they should be friends by now. Or something. I mean, the guy is really fucking handsome. And it’s like – well, has he looked at himself in the mirror? Stiles doesn’t find himself attractive in the least. He’s gaunt and looks like a zombie with the dark circles under his eyes. Sure, he grew out his hair and it looks really great on him now but he thinks Derek couldn’t ever look at him in the same way he looks at Derek. Stiles isn’t willing to make the first move anyway. Definitely not anymore. Obviously Derek doesn’t feel the same way. Now he knows for certain that he doesn’t. He hates him. With a god damn passion, apparently.

 

Stiles picks a piece of ice out of the now empty glass in front of himself, pops it in his mouth and starts to chew on it.

 

“You look about ready to fall off that stool.” The bartender stares down at him and Stiles looks up. Huh, he hadn’t noticed the mustache before. “Look. We’re closing. Do you live close by? Or do you have a ride home?”

 

Stiles nods as he pulls his wallet out. No sense in telling him the truth. He’s about to wander back out into the worst part of town and maybe walk ten or twenty miles home. But he needs to blow off some steam before he faces anyone. His dad, Scott, Derek, honestly even a homeless person at this point.

 

So when he’s paid off his tab, whimpered a little about the money his Jeep won’t be getting the next time it needs some love in the form of repairs, he heads into the men’s room to relieve himself.

 

What he doesn’t expect is to wake up on the floor next to a pile of his own vomit. He’s a little in awe of his body for managing to not asphyxiate on his own bile. The room spins as he slowly makes his way up to his feet and over to the sink to clean off his face and the sleeve of his shirt. He’s overheated and a droplet of sweat rolls down the side of his face. He grips the sink as a wave of nausea hits him suddenly. Seconds later he walks out of the washroom and almost collides with the bartender. Awash with guilt for what he left behind he opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted.

 

“Jesus, kid.” The bartender looks him up and down and frowns. “Get home before you get yourself in trouble.”

 

When Stiles finally pushes out of the bar the cool air of the night is a welcome shock to his system. He stands in front of the door for a few minutes, just basking in the way that it makes him feel. He’s almost forgotten about the whole Derek thing when he notices a black Camaro pull up to the curb and idle. A dark figure emerges from the driver’s side and stares him down.

 

Stiles wants to yell every obscenity at him. He knows it’s stupid, or he thinks he knows that it is. His mind is hazy now and all he can do is wobble ungraciously on unsteady legs and stare right back into those captivating eyes.

 

“Stiles?” Derek sounds uncertain. His voice wavers. And Stiles. Stiles blinks at that. Because Derek doesn’t do uncertain, he does fierce and assertive and badass. Uh, and probably also gorgeous. No, definitely also gorgeous. He does that one really well. “Are you okay?”

 

 _'No'_ , he wants to say _. 'I’m not fucking alright'_. Derek can probably smell the stench of him from a mile away.

 

“You look… I’ll give you ride home.” And Jesus, can’t Derek just apologize or something? Stiles fumes mentally but his legs carry him towards the car regardless of his unwillingness to be near the man right now.

 

Suddenly they’re driving away from the bar. Derek eyes him, a lot, when he thinks Stiles probably isn’t looking. His peripheral vision amazes even himself sometimes. He leans back into the warmth of the seat, feeling utterly defeated, and stares out the window at the passing buildings and trees.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

They continue to drive in silence. Derek feels reassured that Stiles is at least in one piece. Although he’s concerned that he tracked him to a shady bar in an area he tends to avoid himself. He reeks of alcohol and vomit.

 

Derek grips the steering wheel tightly as his wolf growls at him. He did this. Somehow he broke a part of Stiles and he needs to fix this. Headache be damned.

 

“About what I said back there at the loft-” Derek breaks off when he notices that Stiles’s eyes are closed and his breathing has evened out. “We’ll talk when you’re awake and sober.”

 

Stiles’s head lolls to one side, towards the passenger side window, exposing the pale skin of his neck. Derek doesn’t understand why but he reaches out and caresses the nape of his neck and is pleased by how soft and warm his skin is. Stiles leans into his touch, unexpectedly, and Derek pulls his hand back suddenly aware of his actions.

  
“I’ll fix this.” Derek says in a soft whisper. “I promise.”

  
He doesn’t notice the small smile gracing the other man’s lips.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles wakes up in his bed later in the morning. He’s exhausted and wondering why he’s even awake when there’s a loud knocking on his door and he instantly recognizes the “ _Stiles!_ ” to be the voice of his father. How long has he been knocking on that door?

 

The door bursts open abruptly and the look on his dad’s face makes a huge amount of guilt surface in him that he had no idea existed. He sits up and ignores the pounding in his head.

 

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when I had six people phoning me and asking where you were?” His dad makes his way over to the bed and sits on the edge of it. He’s frowning sadly. “When your mother-” His voice breaks and he stops short. Stiles pulls him into a hug, tears forming in his eyes. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  
Everything from the previous night floods back all at once and he sighs into his dad’s shoulder.

 

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” His dad pulls away. Stiles blinks slowly and massages his temples. There’s no way his dad would understand even if he tried to explain. He’d probably be pissed off that he’s been spending time with Derek Hale, of all people. “Fine. You don’t have to say anything right now. But this talk isn’t over, son.”

 

His dad squeezes his shoulder and disappears from his room, leaving Stiles in complete silence. He falls back onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. He thanks the heavens or whatever else is out there that there’s still a month of holidays left before school. He’d hate to have to be faced with that right now. Just for the moment he relishes in the silence and lack of responsibility. His bed is all he needs right now.

 

And maybe some curly fries, if he can keep them down.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

“…Derek?” Allison is gaping as she stands in the doorway to her home. Derek is standing awkwardly on the steps, sunglasses on even though it’s overcast. “You do know that you’re not very… _welcome_ here, right?”

 

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this.” Derek apologizing just seems wrong to Allison. He’s not that type of person. He actually sounds sincere.

  
“Is it about Stiles? Is he okay?”

  
“That’s… that’s why I’m here.” Derek takes off the sunglasses and looks earnestly at Allison. “I’d like your help. Something happened. With Stiles. I’ve already spoken with Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson. We’ll be meeting at the old house tonight. If you could bring…”

 

“Yeah-” Allison starts. “Yes. I’ll get everyone else. I take it Stiles won’t be there?”

 

Derek’s eyes do something strange that doesn’t really fit with the rest of his face and he looks down at the ground as he puts his sunglasses back on.

 

“At eight o’clock.”

  
  
“Absolutely.” Allison watches Derek’s retreating form with a renewed sense of interest and concern. As soon as the door is shut she starts making calls.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

“So, let me get this straight. You upset Stilinski and you want _us_ to fix this?” Jackson is the first one to say a word and he earns a glare from Danny, Lydia and a few others. “ _You_ pissed off your boyfriend. Not _us_.”

  
  
They’re all gathered in the front room of the old Hale house. Lydia brought blankets she mentioned “would have been donated to thrift shops anyway” and they’re all sitting not so comfortably on them.

  
  
“Yeah. Man. I don’t think we should get involved.” Scott is glued to Allison’s side. It’s Derek’s turn to glare.

 

“I’m not the reason Stiles has been so alone this summer.” He bites back and his eyes flash red. “I shouldn’t have been–”

  
  
“Such an ass? Yeah, we gathered as much.” Lydia is twirling the curls of her hair in her fingers and giving him this look that makes him think if she was a werewolf she might be _his_ alpha. She reminds him of Laura.

 

“I have a headache.” Derek closes his eyes and massages his face. “I’ve had it for a while now.”

 

Scott leans forward and looks confused. “What? Why aren’t you just… Why?”

 

“I don’t know _why_ , Scott. I’ve had it for a day and the pain isn’t subsiding. This isn’t normal. I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on Stiles.” When he reopens his eyes he notices that he has the attention of the entire pack now.

 

“You know who could help us figure this out?” Isaac looks far too smug for his liking. “He’s about this tall, as pale as the moon and his eyes are this gorgeous hazel I think you’d appreciate, Derek.”

  
  
“Then it’s settled. We’ll help you woo Stiles and you can stop experiencing this oh so terrible human pain. God forbid you get a headache.” Lydia tucks some hair behind her ear. “Try having a migraine.”

 

Erica moves to touch Derek but he flinches away. He knows what she intends to do. “No. This is for me to deal with.” Erica frowns at him and walks away. With that the pack meeting is over. The others filter out one or two at a time until Lydia, Jackson and Scott are left.

 

“Derek.” Scott sounds a bit on the irritated side. “We’re not the cause of this. Stiles stopped spending time with _us_. For all that he’s done for you, could you at least _try_ not treating him like a piece of dirt? You owe him your life.” Scott bares his sharp teeth and stalks out of the house.

 

“Oh, and Derek?” Lydia looks at him, eyes as fierce as ever and her words are cold. “If you hurt Stiles again I’ll cut off your balls.” She eyes him up and down. “If they grow back I’ll cut them off again.” Lydia high-tails it out of the house, Jackson close behind.

 

Derek stares down at the colourful blankets that cover the charred floorboards of his old home and much to his chagrin, his wolf forces out a howl. He howls for his lost family and he howls for Stiles.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles spends the next few days playing computer games in his room. He does because he knows that his friends stick to the PlayStation or Xbox when they play and all he wants is to be separate from things for a while.

 

Apparently he’s really good at killing virtual things in PC games when he’s in a bad mood and so he’s kicking ass at World Versus World in Guild Wars 2. He wasn’t sure he’d like the game but right now he fucking loves anything that doesn’t involve reality.

 

Before he knows it ten o’clock rolls around and it’s dark in his room. His dad has the night shift again, he only opens the door a crack just to tell Stiles that he loves him and not to do anything stupid while he’s gone and, again, that they’ll talk later. Stiles smiles and salutes and then his dad is gone and he’s back to picking off other players and earning higher ranks and god does he love this feeling. It must be like how Derek feels. Powerful.

 

At the thought of the Alpha wolf he wrinkles his nose in disdain and takes a swig from a can of Red Bull. There is a pile of empty, crushed cans under his desk but he doesn’t care. Today he just can’t care about anything except for his virtual character’s life. Has he mentioned he already has a level 80 elementalist named Stiles? And he’s the biggest badass. Other players are following _him_. _Fuck_ yeah.

 

And that’s when his phone buzzes to alert him to a new text. Like the fool he is, he picks it up and reads it.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek probably spends about an hour trying to figure out how to use the phone and word this one text to Stiles and he doesn’t understand why it’s so complicated. He doesn’t understand a lot of things these days. Times have changed and he’s holding onto the past in certain aspects of his life when he shouldn’t be. So he has this new cell phone, courtesy of Lydia of course.

 

The words are mostly his own. He’s received about thirteen texts from anonymous numbers with variations on what he should be writing. He assumes from his pack as some of them are from the same number. Lydia didn’t help him program everyone’s numbers into his phone. She told him that “there’s only one number you need right now” and so he’s writing this message to Stiles.

 

He decides to read it aloud, to see if it sounds like something he would say and not a mish mash of words from the rest of his pack.

 

“Stiles. I’m sorry about last night. Can we talk? I’d like to explain. Please. I’ll be waiting for you at the house.” His finger hovers over the “send” button for a few moments before he presses down on the screen.

 

He hopes for a reply but he doesn’t count on one. He’ll be there. Now all he can do is wait and see.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

The thing that likely irks Stiles the most is that the text he reads is from an unknown number and while he wants to believe it’s from Derek as far as he knows the Alpha doesn’t have a proper cell phone or even know how to text this well. He was once left to decipher ‘c9nw aiib’ when Derek attempted to text him from Scott’s phone during a particularly hairy fight. Seriously. Did autocorrect decide to fuck off, just then? Derek had shrugged it off as being the fault of the phone for not understanding him when he had tried to write the words 'come soon'. Really? 

 

But there’s this part of Stiles that can’t help but go. The feelings he’s developed for Derek are still strong and even stronger is this pent up anger that killing virtual enemies just hasn’t quenched so far. And so there’s Derek. He needs to take this out on Derek. It’s his fault. He hasn’t felt this annoyed and angry in ages.

 

On the screen of his laptop his character is murdered and he silently rages. Yes, this is Derek’s fault and he’s going to pay.

 

Stiles jumps to his feet, sways a little when the blood rushes to his head, then scours his room for some clean clothing.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek sits in the dark on the stairs in his old house. He can hear a heartbeat approaching the front door and he straightens his back. He’s rehearsed everything he wants to say to Stiles and he thinks he’s ready for whatever Stiles has to say to him. He’ll take anything that comes his way. He just wants to hear Stiles talk again. Babble. About anything, really. He doesn’t care that his head hurts like a bitch now.

 

So when the door opens, he jumps to his feet and proclaims “Stiles, I’m sorry! I was wrong! I-” and he’s more than a little surprised and confused to see Peter standing in the doorway. Honestly he’s annoyed.

 

“Oh, my. Am I interrupting?” There’s a gleam in Peter’s eyes that Derek doesn’t like. “About to profess your love, were you, Derek? I’m so proud of you. My nephew. Finally coming out of the closet. Oh, my dear boy, I’m _so_ honoured but that would be incest and you of all werewolves should understand how wrong that would be.” He laughs and wipes at non-existent tears.

 

“Peter.” Derek spits out. His face is red but he doesn’t care. “What are you doing here? Leave before I make you. You’re not welcome here right now.”

 

“Am I not welcome in the home of my own family?” Peter puts the back of his hand to his forehead and dramatically cries out: “Oh, woe, why do you say such hurtful things?”

 

“I’m not joking.” Derek leans forward and bares his teeth.

 

“So you _are_ expecting someone.” Peter is all smiles now and claps his hands together. “How _wonderful_. Will I get to meet him? Are you proposing? No, no of course you’re not. This would be the worst place.” Suddenly his face deadpans. “Please tell me you’re not proposing to someone in _this place_. Derek.”

 

It’s then that Derek notices the familiar red hoodie, standing just behind Peter. Stiles stands there and looks back and forth between Peter and Derek. Derek’s face feels hot. Peter glances back and smirks.

 

“Well, that’s my cue to leave~!” Peter almost sings at them. “Don’t stay out past curfew, lovebirds. You know what they say about the woods at night. All those _creepy crawlies_ come out of the woodworks.”

 

Derek wants to retort that Peter must be one of them but he’s already scurrying away into the forest.

 

“Stiles.” Derek walks down the steps and meets him at the door. “I, uh. Thanks for coming.”

 

Stiles just looks at him, expectantly.

 

“I’m really sorry.” Derek notices Stiles shiver and he beckons him inside. Not that the house offers much heat but it’s shelter from the wind and he doesn’t want Stiles to get sick. They gather by the old fireplace. The silence from Stiles is unnerving.

 

“Look. I… didn’t realize what I was saying the other night.” Derek struggles. Peter threw him off. He thought he had this all planned out. What he would say, what he would do. Everything would be better at the end. “I mean I did but I couldn’t stop.”

 

Stiles doesn’t say a word, just watches him carefully. Derek is suddenly sad. He misses the chatter.

 

“I’ve had this headache and it hasn’t gone away. I didn’t mean to take my feelings out on you. It just… sort of happened that way.” Derek turns away from Stiles and leans lightly against the fragile frame of the old fireplace. “I couldn’t understand why you were there. Why you were spending so much time with me.”

 

A hand on the side of his head startles the Alpha but Derek manages to remain composed. He turns slightly and Stiles drops his hand to his side.

 

“You’re an idiot.” Stiles blurts out. “A complete fucking idiot.”

 

This time Derek knows why he’s smiling. He hasn’t heard Stiles’s amazing voice in days and he doesn’t care that he’s the target of all of this anger. He deserves this.

 

“You are the worst, Derek. I thought maybe you at least _partially_ knew why I spent so much time with you.” Stiles moves closer. “I didn’t fucking hold you up in that pool because I thought you could _save_ _me_. I don’t just _need_ you. I _want_ you.”

 

“I-”

  
  
“No. And you didn’t tell me that you’ve had a headache. For how long, now?”

 

“A few days.”

  
  
“Holy God, Derek. Have you even bothered to look into what’s causing it?”

  
  
“I thought it was just the stress-”

  
  
“ _Shut up_.” Stiles snaps and closes the distance between them. Derek can smell the fresh mint of the toothpaste he uses. Stiles’s eyes soften a bit when Derek’s right hand finds the small of his back.

 

“Is it just the headache?”

 

Derek thinks for a moment. “I was a bit sick the other night.”

 

“How is your head now? Better or worse than that night?”

 

“Better.”

 

“Come on.” Stiles grabs Derek’s arm and drags him out of the house and to his Jeep. Derek doesn’t protest. Stiles is talking and the tightness in his chest is gone. He likes the feeling of his hand on his arm. He likes being around Stiles. He doesn’t want to fuck this up again.

 

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles doesn’t know when the words started to spill out but they did and now here he is driving Derek back to his loft. Derek most likely has no idea what’s going on. Stiles likes it better this way. When he mentioned the headache, how it was worse at his loft and feeling sick he put two and two together. Of course he’s working on a hunch but he’s pretty certain he knows the cause. The bigger problem, though, if he’s right is the ‘why’ and ‘who’ of the matter.

 

Stiles steps down harder on the gas pedal and they tear off towards the small downtown area of Beacon Hills. To Derek’s loft.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek is concerned when Stiles starts to speed. He knows that his dad is the sheriff but that just means much more harsh punishments if he does something wrong or breaks the law. That man wants his son kept safe and out of danger.

  
  
They pull up to his building and he suddenly feels like the idiot that Stiles had previously called him. A huge fucking idiot. There’s probably one thing that would make him feel this way. He glances at Stiles before they get out of the Jeep and they share a look.

 

“Stiles, I’m-”

 

“Let’s just… This is more important right now. Okay? Let’s go.” Stiles hops out of his Jeep and slams the door. Derek follows suit.

 

Once inside Derek’s loft, Stiles doesn’t hesitate to start rummaging through his belongings and checking behind and underneath his furniture for anything out of the ordinary.

 

Derek finds that he doesn’t mind. His scent is back where it belongs.

 

“There’s a hole in the wall.” Stiles states matter of factly.

 

“I put it there.”

  
  
“Huh.”

 

They carry on with their search in silence. It takes about ten minutes before the silence is broken.

 

“Here.” Stiles pops his head up from behind the sofa. Derek stops looking through the kitchen cabinets and walks over to him. “There’s a little – If I can just – OW.” Stiles pulls back his arm. His hand is wrapped around something and Derek can smell blood. He can smell something else. _Wolfsbane_. Nausea assaults him in the worst way and he can barely see straight.

 

“Stiles. What did you-”

  
  
“Fuck. I’m just. I’m. Don’t follow me.” Stiles sounds panicked but jumps to his feet and runs out of the loft. The scent of Wolfsbane leaves and with it the pain in Derek’s head subsides. He growls.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles runs. He’s not sure for how long but he knows when he stops that he’s far enough from Derek’s place. He finds an industrial sized garbage bin and throws a tiny shattered vial into it. His hand burns and he knows that it’s bleeding. He refuses to look. The sight of it might make him pass out and right now he’s pretty sure that’s not an option. Wolfsbane, as he knows, isn’t dangerous just for werewolves. It can kill humans, too.

 

He walks back the way he came but he starts to feel lightheaded. Then he looks down at his hand. The blood is dripping down his fingers and he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to sting this much. He panics now. He thinks he must have had contact with the Wolfsbane. He can’t catch his breath and his heart races a mile a minute. The heat rises in his body. He stops dead in his tracks and falls to his hands and knees, gasping for air. He feels like a fish out of water. He tries to crawl forward but he can’t move anymore.

  
  
Strong arms gently grab his shoulders and pull him backwards. A hand finds its way to his chest and hovers lightly over his heart. Someone’s head presses against his. He tries to get away but his limbs won’t cooperate.

  
  
“Stiles, breathe with me.” Derek sounds distant but he does. He feels the heat of the body pressed against his. The rise and fall of the chest behind him. He’s slowly pulled back into reality. His breathing matches Derek’s but he feels dazed and sick.

  
  
“D-Derek. No. T-too close.” He manages.

 

“It’s fine now.” Derek whispers into his ear, his hot breath tickles his neck and he shivers. “No more headache. I can't smell it on either of us. You saved me again.”

 

After a long while Stiles leans back into Derek and takes a deep breath. “Th-thanks.”

 

“Back now?” Derek asks and this baffles Stiles. He shrugs and nods his head, unable to do much else. Derek helps him to his feet and keeps him steady as they walk back to the loft.

  
  
Once inside Derek directs Stiles into the bathroom and has him sit on the cool tiles of the floor. He digs through the medicine cabinet above the sink and finally plops down in front of Stiles with a first aid kit.

 

Stiles laughs weakly that it’s covered in a thin layer of dust. With his lifestyle Stiles thinks it should have been used more often. Derek works some sort of magic and in no time at all Stiles’s hand is clean and bandaged. He feels significantly better.

 

He’s once again helped up but this time Derek moves him to a part of the loft that he hasn’t actually seen yet. The bedroom. It’s clean and tidy and barren apart from the bed and two side tables. Derek pushes him gently onto the bed and when Stiles tries to sit up Derek holds up a hand to stop him.

  
“Stay here tonight. I’ll call Sheriff Stilinski.” At that Stiles’s eyes widen and he must look as shocked as he feels because Derek actually laughs and smiles at him. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to let him know you’re okay. The last time you left here late at night he and I were both worried about you.”

 

Stiles figures his eyes must be popping out of their sockets by now. “You _talked_ to my dad? _You_ had a conversation with _him_? About _us_?”  
  


“About us?” Derek echoes and an indecipherable look crosses his face. Stiles feels like an idiot. He forgot. It was a one-sided thing. He’s not in Derek’s bed because this man wants to fuck him fifteen different ways to Sunday. “Stiles. I like you. And I just wanted you to know that. I don’t like it when you’re not here.”

 

He leaves the room without further clarification but Stiles is smiling now. He’s exhausted and hurting and he loves Derek fucking Hale. He’s the finest piece of ass he’s ever seen and even though he spent half of the week angry he could get used to this if it meant sleeping in Derek’s bed.

 

“Stiles you’re actually saying these things out loud.” Derek’s head pops back into the bedroom and Stiles’s face must be a million shades of red by now. Derek’s full on grinning now. “But… don’t stop talking.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was trolling Tumblr and read this:  
>  _"Sterek fics where Derek tells Stiles so shut up so he does for a long time (days/weeks) and Derek tries everything to get Stiles talking again?"_  
>  From [sterekstilesderek.tumblr.com](http://sterekstilesderek.tumblr.com/post/52376366102/sterek-fics-where-derek-tells-stiles-so-shut-up-so)
> 
> And... I guess I was fueled by alcohol and my love for Sterek and so I came up with this.


End file.
